Page 42 of Burning For You

He didn’t bother to count it. There was no need.

Clay was always fair. Ash never took money for actually working the bar. Not an hourly rate. The tips were good enough, but he was positive Clay always gave more for that reason.

“See you next week,” Clay said. “Remember, I need you at the mill on Wednesday. I’ve got someone out.”

“I’ll be here. It’s on my calendar.”

He strode out the door toward his truck and saw a car in the parking lot. The lights were on, the engine was running, and the door opened.

Fuck.

It was Bree.

“Hey. I was waiting for you to come out. How about we get out of here and get a drink somewhere? You know, maybe my place.”

“Sorry,” he said. “I can’t tonight.”

She moved closer, got too close into his space, her nail coming out to run down his arm. He didn’t have a jacket on. Just his Ridgeway Cider T-shirt.

His skin rose from the chill, not her touch, but he was betting her ego wouldn’t allow her to think that.

“How about a rain check? Can I get your number?”

Letting people down easy had always been difficult for him.

“Sorry, I’m kind of in the start of something.”

“Got it,” Bree said, then reached into her purse. “If you get out of that and want to have some fun, this is how I can be reached.”

When he didn’t reach for the card, she tucked it into the front pocket of his jeans.

Jesus Christ, she was bold.

“Have a good night.” He strode to his truck, hopped in and started it up, driving off the property and hopefully to his destiny.

“Fuck!” He rubbed his hand over his face.

Where the hell had that thought come from?

Maybe the fact that he’d never been able to get Skye out of his mind. Enough that he’d slipped and confessed what he had last night, confusing them both when the words came out of his mouth.

12

KNOWLEDGE BOMB

“I’m crazy. Stupid, freaking crazy to do this,” she muttered, moving around her small apartment and checking to see if anything needed to be straightened or wiped down.

Kind of ridiculous considering she didn’t own much. She even had to buy a chair because her living room looked funny with just her couch in it.

The couch that was crammed into her last apartment.

She stood in place, her head swiveling like the teacups at a day carnival. Not steady. Not stable. Ready to break free and hit a wall.

Exactly how she was feeling over the fact Ash Ridgeway was coming here in—she looked at her watch—ten minutes.

She yanked at her hair that she’d left down. Better than the messy ponytail she always threw it in, then marched to her kitchen, opened the oven and checked on the lasagna that had been baking for close to an hour.

She’d pull it out soon and let it rest.